


You can use my skin, to bury secrets in

by JenfysNest



Series: Reylo One-Shots 🖤 [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Universe, Emotional Sex, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Kinktober 2019, Light Angst, Loss of Virginity, Scar Worship, Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker Trailer, Touch-Starved, scar kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2021-01-03 02:49:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21172178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenfysNest/pseuds/JenfysNest
Summary: “Why do you cover it?”“People keep telling me they know me.” There is a pause where she let’s his nearness wash over her, a humming electricity coursing inside to warm her despite her half-damp clothes. “No one does.”There is a part of her that she’s kept hidden from the others. The permanent reminder of it lies under a band of leather she has worn everyday since the force sang in them as they fought side by side, only to be silenced by his misguided choice and her necessary, but still heartrending, decision. She has kept it from prying eyes. Kept it, and what it meant, her secret.The leather of his glove meets the leather of her arm band. He traces a gloved finger over the fastening straps. “But I do.”





	You can use my skin, to bury secrets in

“Why do you cover it?”

His lips ghost over the nape of her neck, causing her eyes to flutter closed and her heart to race. His breath is the first thing of his that has ever _ truly _ touched her, and the knowledge of that makes her heady. This isn’t some manifestation willed by the force. This is _ his breath _ on _ her body. _ It is hot, and soothing, moving across her chilled skin. The drying, salty sea water makes every part of her feel tight on the surface—creating an exquisite sort of tension. All the while, inside, she feels—perhaps for the first time since she screamed _ come back _ to a family she’d never see again—a certain sort of calm. _ He is here. Really here. _

“You know why,” Rey says. Her voice is hoarse, the result of days of running, of fleeing and of eventually coming together. It’s a simple statement of fact. He knows because the Force has seen fit to bind them so intrinsically to one another.

He huffs in response, the hot air escaping his mouth more forcefully, crossing more of the bare landscape of her neck.

“I do, but I need to hear you say it.” There is no demand in his tone. Instead she hears—she _feels_ in the force around her, _inside_ her—a familiar sort of desperation. A plea born from his longing. A longing that she is intimately familiar with. In her mind's eye, she sees the red drapes in flames, sees the sweat from his exertion drip from his hair, sees his outstretched hand. _Join me. Please._

She had said _ no _ to him then.

“People keep telling me they know me.” There is a pause where she let’s his nearness wash over her. _ So close. _A humming electricity courses inside her and warms her despite her half-damp clothes and cool skin.

“No one does.” There is a part of her that she’s had to keep hidden from the others. The permanent reminder of it lies under a band of leather she has worn everyday since the force sang in them as they fought side by side, only to be silenced by his misguided choice and her necessary, but still heartrending, decision. Finn had asked about the wound that first day on the Falcon. Leia hadn’t needed to. And every day since, she has kept it covered. Kept it from prying eyes. Kept it, and what it meant, her secret.

She can feel the change in the energy around them before he even makes to move, before she hears his tunic, dried and salty-stiff, rustle when he brings an arm up to wrap around her waist. He knows the inside of her mind—in an effort to confront the evil facing them, she has thrown the door wide open, and he … well, he had never closed his. Despite this, his touch is still so tentative in the face of how much she wants this. How much she knows they _ both _ want this.

The leather of his glove meets the leather of her arm band. He traces a gloved finger over the fastening straps.

“But I do,” he says. And he does. She is the last Jedi, the assumed savior of the Resistance. He is the scion of a family that has both, at one time or another, wreaked ruin and given hope to an entire galaxy. The pressure of it all is overwhelming and no one knows—no one could _ possibly _ know—but them.

His grip around her waist tightens as his gloved hand moves to his face. She can hear the stretch of still-damp leather when his teeth pinch and work to pull the glove off. The sound as it stretches off each finger, slowly exposing more and more of his skin, makes a knot of tension form low in her belly. She remembers the first time he took his glove off—the first time she reached out and he was there. _ You’re not alone_.

She thinks of her scar. Of how every night when she is alone, she studies the bit of raised flesh—_touches it_—looks at its shape. A sign, she thought, two hands reaching out. The imprint of that moment in the hut and everything after, carved on her body forever. A reminder.

She _ had _ seen their future. Ben would turn, would join her, and together they’d confront a great evil—to try to restore a delicate balance. It was true, all of it. She realizes now that he just needed more time, and Rey’s entire life up until that point had been about biding time. It was no accident the Force chose her—patient, strong, a scavenger, a salvager.

And he is here now, _ really here_, standing behind her amongst the wreckage left behind after another Skywalker finally turned back to the light. They both know what this is.

What lies beyond this room is uncertain. What is not in question is the fact that it is the most difficult thing they will ever face, and they will face it together.

But first—

There is no glove the next time he raises his hand and his fingers graze the smooth surface of the leather band. “May I?” he asks—maybe to buy a few more precious seconds to calm himself. She can feel the nervous excitement radiating off him in waves. But he _ knows _ how much she wants him to touch her, to touch _ it_.

His hand is so large, but his fingers are deft. They ease their way under the straps and slowly begin to release the fastenings. Her heart pounds an unsteady rhythm against her chest, but his arm around her grounds her. First, she feels the cool air settle against the newly exposed skin. It raises goosebumps along her arm as she hears the leather band hit the floor. But then, _ oh_—then he brings his finger to the outside edge of her scar, and that first touch, it unravels her. Just the soft brush of his skin against hers overwhelms her. Her heart races and her body, well, her body does other things. There is so much _ want _ coiled inside her. A tension she’s only ever felt when she’s touched herself to thoughts of him, and this time she needs him to be the one to break it. 

“When he cut you, _god_, I would have rended him limb from limb if I’d gotten to him.” He releases her waist and turns her then. She catches his gaze, and the look in his eyes is reverent—covetous. She’s seen that look before; in a snow-covered forest, while she stood above him—in a room on fire surrounded by the dead. “But you took care of him, didn’t you. So beautiful, so _ strong_.”

His eyes fall back to her scar. He retraces the shape of the smooth, shiny skin with his fingers. They are softer than hers, lacking the callouses that a lifetime of grappling results in. His touch feels so different than hers. Every pass of his fingers sends a frisson of need straight to the core of her.

“I want to see yours, too.” She is breathless when she says it. Drunk on the sensation of his hands _ touching _ that secret part of her that few others have ever even _ seen_. The truth that is known to both of them, is that she wants to do much more than see. She wants to touch, to _ taste_. Late at night she has often thought about his scar. The mark she had made on him. The stake she claimed by letting the Force in, by letting _ him _ in.

She raises her hands to unfasten his tunic, and they’re shaky, not from fear, but from the unyielding want that strums through every part of her. 

“It’s, um—it’s complicated. Let me.” First, he removes his cape. He lays it out at their feet, a single layer of fabric to separate what she knows will soon be their bodies, from the salt-water rusted floor. His hands move quickly along the leather of his belt. It hits the ground with a soft thud along with his other glove. He pauses and takes a shuddering breath. She can sense his disquiet and knows his hands tremble for an altogether different reason when they begin to remove the tunic.

When the light hits that first bit of alabaster skin, this time, she doesn’t avert her eyes. She wants to see him. All of him. _ This _ him.

His tunic falls to the floor, joining all the other pieces of armor that have served to guard his flesh from another’s touch. She clenches her fists to hold them back. To keep from reaching. His anxiety is palpable. It rolls off him. She can taste it on her tongue.

When he speaks his voice is thready. “I’m sorry. No one has ever—”

“It’s okay, Ben. I know.” She wants to reassure him, to comfort him, to let him know that her touch—it will be different. It will be kind. It will be for him as much as for her. “We don’t have to, if you don’t want—”

“No. _ Please_. The visions haven’t shown me what will happen out there. I don’t know if we’ll get another chance. I want— _Please, Rey_. If only just this once.”

She steps into him, her movements are slow and deliberate. She takes her time, allowing him to see everything she means to do before she does it. Giving him the choice to allow or to deny. His eyes are fixed on her hand when she raises it. She starts with his face. The calloused tip of her finger meeting _ her mark _ just above his brow. His body shudders fully at the first contact. His eyes snap close, and she knows this is assent, a trust he’s placed in her to keep going. She moves along the cleft—so much thinner now than when she first created it—and down his cheek. His scar feels different than hers, not raised, more jagged, with a depression bisecting it. A valley to her scar’s mountain.

His breath is coming out in sharp pants now, and she can see the racing of his heartbeat in the corded muscles of his neck. When she steps in even closer, presses her body flush against his, she can feel his erection straining against the now-dried leather of his pants.

She bows her head and brings the tip of her tongue against the bottom of the scar, the place where it all began. He _ whimpers _ at the contact, and the sound awakens something almost feral in her.

She’s addled with desire. She leans her forehead against the planes of his chest, bracing herself. “_ Ben_, _ please,” _ she begs.

He opens his eyes, and things move more quickly then. Tentativeness evolves into resolve. His hands come up and cup her face, and when his lips press into hers, they are unpracticed, but so are hers, and when she opens her mouth he knows to press his tongue inside. His mouth is warm and his lips are full and they taste of salt and _ him_.

“I don’t know how to work these,” she laments while working to loosen his pants. When she hears his huff and sees equal confusion on his face while he regards her tunic, she comes to a decision. “Let’s do our own, okay? _ This time_.” He nods in agreement and they each work on removing every remaining barrier that exists between them.

It’s hard to focus with how she can’t pull her eyes away from his actions. Each new parcel of skin he reveals, a new bit of uncharted territory for her eyes to explore.

When they’re both standing there, completely bare, there is this moment of quiet reflection. The only sounds reverberating in the space are the faint echoes of the roiling water outside, and the shallow breaths they each take as they take inventory of each other. Her eyes roam his skin, some of it smooth and taut, some of it mottled and marred. She hopes, one day,_ if there is another day after this one_, that she will have the time to kiss each mark that isn’t hers and lay a new claim to it. Replace the memories of when he received them with new ones. Better ones.

Her eyes have taken him in, all of him, but her body clenches with the need to be _ full _ of him. She brings a hand up and holds it out in offering to him. A mirror of a different place, an earlier time and an earlier plea. “_Please._”

He works his jaw and his eyes shut, and she can feel the hope that’s laced with a tinge of regret as it overwhelms him. His eyes are shiny, but bright when he opens them and takes her hand.

She brings them down to lay on his cape. She wants this to be good for them. She wants to wring out whatever pleasure they can have in this short time they have been allotted. “You can touch me, Ben. Wherever you want to. I want you to.” She expects his hands to explore, but instead she feels his mouth on her body; kissing, licking, sucking—her neck, her collarbone. His large hand grabs her ass and pulls her closer as he sucks a hardened nipple into his warm mouth. She hears the gasp—the moan—that’s ripped from inside her as if it came from someone else. It feels good, and she wants more of it.

She grabs his hand and pushes it down between their two bodies. She guides his fingers to the part of her she knows so well. Night after night she has sought release, sought escape from the war and the expectations. She has rubbed herself there to thoughts of him, the same way she moves his fingers to make him rub her now. She has pushed her fingers inside herself wishing it was him. “Ben, that feels so good, _ Ben_.”

“You thought of me when you did this to yourself,” he chokes. It’s not a question. The bond is open and he knows she’s remembering those lonely nights where she came with his given name on her tongue. “Fuck, Rey.”

She licks her hand before she brings it down, wrapping her nimble fingers around the length of his cock and stroking it. His skin down there is smooth and delicate. In a life full of hard things, it’s probably the most tender thing her hands have ever held. The gutteral noise he makes at her touch is glorious. It fills her with joy. It makes her slicker. She has worked her hands roughly out of necessity her entire life. She relishes working her hands softly for him.

He brings up his other hand to stop her. “Rey, you have to stop. I won’t be able to hold on.”

“Okay, it’s okay. I want you inside.” Her words alone are enough to make him whimper, to make his body tremble under her hands.

She pulls him over her. Opens herself wide to make space for the breadth of him. She feels the wet press of his cock against the crease of her cunt just as she feels the wet press of his lips on her scar. Tears prick the corners of her eyes at the overwhelming sensation of it.

“I’m so sorry, Rey,” he breathes warm against the raised flesh.

“It’s okay. You’re here now. And we’re doing this together. That’s all that matters.” Her cheeks are wet and her heart is full and she wants to be completely full of him.

She reaches down to grasp him and catch his cock to her entrance. He moans as he curls forward and lays his forehead heavy on her sternum. “God, Rey, you’re so _ wet_.”

“That’s for you, Ben. To help me take what you’re meant to give me.” She pulls him up for a kiss.

His eyes hold hers and she feels what’s behind his words before he even starts to say them. It’s warm and fierce and the power of it is staggering. “Rey, I—” 

“I know, Ben. I _ know_.”

He sighs, and presses into her at her words. There is just a pinch before he’s fully seated. His first thrust is tentative and unsteady, but his next one is surer. She can feel the potency of his pleasure through the bond, she can hear the evidence of it in each groan in her ear. It soothes her, and all discomfort at the stretch of him ebbs. He grabs her thighs and opens her legs wider, pushes into her harder. Each new thrust is bringing her closer to where she can sense he already is. The sound of his cock moving through her wetness echoes in the air with every push and pull. There is no longer the sound of the ocean outside. It is just the sound of _ them. _ He works himself inside her faster and faster as he comes nearer to his peak.

“What can I do for you, Rey? I’m close.”

“Touch me… like before.”

He leans his weight on one arm as he snakes his hand between their bodies. His fingers find her nub, swollen and ready, and he rubs just so. Just the way she showed him. The pleasure of it is blinding. She’s dreamed of this, the prospect of it was her balm on so many lonely nights, and now it’s real. She can feel that tension that’s been building slowly begin to crest with each brush of his fingers, with each thrust of his cock hitting that spot that lies deep inside her. 

“Don’t stop, Ben. _ Oh_. That’s perfect. You’re doing… so good.”

Maybe it’s her words that undo him, but she feels the piercing moment of his pleasure through the bond right as she feels his warmth spread inside her. “Oh, God, Rey,” he groans, but he doesn’t stop moving. She is so close and he can sense it, can _ feel _ it in the spasming of her cunt. “Please, Rey. Come for me,” he punctuates the request with thrusts that are deep, that move through her completely, but it’s the wet warmth of his tongue on her scar that pushes her over. Her body bows, and her nails dig deep into the flesh of him as she comes.

“_Ben._”

“Yes, Rey. _ Yes_.” She can feel the flutter inside against the length of his cock. Can feel him twitch in response to her unceasing clenching.

“Fuck. You feel amazing. You _ are _ amazing, Rey.”

He moves to pull out, to get off her, but she wraps her arms around him and holds him still. She wants to feel the weight of him on her—_in her_—for just a little longer. It’s an anchor tethering her to this moment, to what they’ve done, and to him.

When their heartbeats have slowed and his weight becomes too much, she loosens her arms and, with a kiss, he rolls off her.

They’re silent for a couple moments before he brushes a knuckle across her scar. “You don’t have to hide it anymore.”

She looks at the strap of leather on the ground knowing that it will never leave the room—that it will join the rubble and refuse strewn about, and says, “I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is different than my usual fare, so many thanks to those who encouraged me—especially ThoseInDarkness, Skerft, Jeeno2 and KyloTrashForever. 💜
> 
> You can find me on twitter at [Jenfys Nest](https://twitter.com/ancientcityjenn)


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